Shawls with Sozni embroidery define Kashmiri workmanship

By

Reshmi R Dasgupta

, ET Bureau|

Nov 29, 2009, 12.53 AM IST

Zafarbhai's eyes lit up when I showed him a much-beloved family heirloom shawl. It is black, with a very European overall floral motif, with a rather Victorian fringe at both ends. "This is priceless," he told me. "Sozni embroidery of this kind is rarely seen these days. Let me show you some new ones..." Sozni? That was a new word for me. I must confess that I was so used to ooohing and aaahing over his cache of antique jamewars that I never bothered to explore his collection of other shawls.

For fool I, for as he showed me last weekend, if there is ever an essential luxury worth stocking up on as winter comes around again, it is these exquisite embroidered — sozni — pashmina shawls. Exquisite, in fact, is an utterly inadequate word, when talking of these masterpieces of delicate yet intricate workmanship. I thought plain two-and-half metre lengths of super-soft pashmina woven in the 'chashm-e-bulbul honeycomb are the epitome of Kashmiri excellence, and that less is more.

But sozni showed me that more is often even better. Kashmiri shawls, incidentally fall into two categories: loom woven or 'kani', and needle embroidered or sozni. Antique kani jamevars, now rarely found in whole lengths, had so far been my obsession. But I was bowled over by the sozni shawls Zafarbhai unfurled one after another on my living room carpet, with embroidery so fine that it was impossible to believe they were not woven.

The paisley (that distinctive stylised mango or 'ambi' shape) and floral patterns were so closely embroidered with single silk threads that the pashmina base was not even visible. "We call this style papier mache because of its intricate work," said Zafarbhai showing me one piece whose jewel colours almost belied its embroidered origin. To me it seemed almost like meenakari or enamel work. Picking out another one in which the embroidery was in geometric sections, he told me it was called 'khatambandh' after the distinctive pattern of carved wooden panels made by Srinagar artisans.

As I marveled at the delicacy of the work, I could easily believe it when Zafarbhai said that each shawl took from two to four years to embroider, as it was such painstaking and slow work. So if a person worked for 40 years, he (mostly men embroidered though now women do too) would have made only 10 shawls. Wow. And yet the average price he quoted — Rs 65,000, going up to several lakh — seemed much too little for the effort they put in.

In the west, the barest bit of hand work hikes up prices phenomenally, and yet these pieces of incredible skill and perseverence are available at around $1500 upwards seems a steal. Photographs do not do these essential luxuries justice; you have to see them close up, feel them, peer at their amazing patterns to realise what treasures these are. Heirlooms in the making, just like the black one I treasure.

My advice: call up a shawlwala, your Zafarbhai (or mine!) and tell them to show you what these treasures are. All too often we miss out on the best things our country has to offer because their purveyors lack the avenues to publicise their fantastic wares. This has to stop. And we have to make sure we get those essential luxuries!